


Good Advice

by AlleiraDayne



Series: Instead of Going to Bed DAI Verse [10]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adorable Cullen, Awkward Cullen, Cullen Fluff, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-26 20:12:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6254266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlleiraDayne/pseuds/AlleiraDayne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>From @nikerek on tumblr, who prompted me for a First Kiss and A Promise between Amallia and Cullen.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Good Advice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nikerek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nikerek/gifts).



> From @nikerek on tumblr, who prompted me for a First Kiss and A Promise between Amallia and Cullen.

Freezing winds rippled the canvas tents, tearing a path through the camps of Haven. Purple locks caught in the tumultuous swirls danced across her face as Amallia walked between the tents, lost in thought. Redcliffe had nearly been a disaster, the only positive being the rebel mages joining the Inquisition’s cause. Who was this Elder One? And what did he want with her?

As if on cue, the eerie green glow of the mark flared to life, throwing shadows and shafts of light across the tents. And for once, it served a purpose beyond closing rifts. So deep in the thought, Amallia nearly ran into the Commander, stalking with a stern stride towards the gates.

Had the mark not shown so brightly, she would have stumbled into him. Or rather, he may have bowled her over as she crossed his path, his mind also wandering in another world. But when the green light sparked at her side, the Commander stopped just shy of her feet. Amallia gasped at the sudden touch of his hand on hers, and though she knew it had been an accident, a part of her wished he’d meant to do it.

“Excuse me, Herald,” he murmured with a frown. “I fear I would have run you over in my haste, if not for your mark.”

Maker but he was _warm_. Heat emanated from him, and her cheeks colored pink, though not from the frigid air. His fingers lingered in her palm, tips drawing a languid stroke. _That_ had not been an accident.

Her chest heaved in a rush of confused thoughts as she stared into his amber gaze, darkened by the waning firelight and the mark fading to nothingness once more. When she failed to speak for several seconds, mouth hanging open, the Commander took a tentative half-step nearer.

“Herald? Are you … alright?” he asked, a quiet rumble that rolled through her chest like distant thunder.

“I’m … fine,” she whispered, breathless. With a shake of her head, she cleared her thoughts. “I was turning in for the night as well, but wanted some time alone. To think.”

“I apologize,” he said with a small bow as he withdrew his hand from hers. “I will take my leave, then.”

Before he could take a step, her hand returned to his. What had driven her to detain him any further, she hadn’t a clue. Her skin pebbled, fine hairs on the back of her neck standing on end, warning. A terrible idea, for sure, but Amallia no longer wanted to be alone. And he was there.

“Walk with me?” she asked and his smile warmed her heart. With a gesture towards the gates, Cullen fell into step beside her, matching her pace.

A slow stride took them to the main gates, patrols passing them as they spoke. Flickering firelight from torches tinted the metal of his armor a dull orange and lit the path before them. When she fell silent, she felt his eyes linger, reading her like an open book.

“Something has you troubled. I can see it plain as day on your face,” he stated with such a matter of fact tone, Amallia sighed in frustration. Obvious, as always.

“I haven’t been able to forget the things I saw at Redcliffe. A bleak and hopeless future. Leliana, Cassandra … it was terrifying,” she explained.

“Herald, that was a future without you. It will not come to pass. You are here,” he explained, confidence palpable.

He believed in her. They all did, but that _he_ believed in her somehow meant more. The moment they had first met in the war room months earlier, Amallia was conflicted. Ex-Templar, yes, but Templar nonetheless. And she a mage. But she found herself inexplicably drawn to him, seeking out his company, his advice outside of the war room. And loathed as she was to admit it, she could stare at him for _hours_.

But what of his thoughts? The Herald of Andraste had to be an intimidating title for a Templar.

 _Ex-Templar_ , she reminded herself for the hundredth time.

“That makes one of us,” she replied as they came to a halt before her door. “I can only hope to live up to the expectations, although I fear I’m going to disappoint a few people,” she chuckled.

The torch in the sconce beside her door sizzled out, smoke billowing up to the inky black sky in a grey plume. With only the light of the moon and stars above, Amallia shuffled nervously on her feet, unsure of what to say. Her frustrations clouded her thoughts, warring with the vision of the man in front of her who only confused her further.

“Herald,” he began, taking another step closer. “Do not try to please the world. Do what you feel is right. Thedas needs the Breach sealed and the rifts close. Not a figurehead. Not a politician. And _definitely_ not a prophet, as much as we may wish you to be the voice of Andraste herself.”

Amallia forced herself to focus on his words, but the timbre of his voice and his masculine earthy scent filled her nose. A dizzying rush spun the world around her and she pitched forward, headless of every instinct screaming in opposition.

Her lips crashed down upon his and for a brief second, fear inundated her. But the thought vanished in in an instant; the Commander returned the kiss, tender and gentle with a light touch of his fingertips on her cheek.

No sooner than it had started, Amallia pulled back, gasping in shock. “I am _so_ sorry, Commander. That was inappropriate. I shouldn’t—”

His hand found hers as she turned for her door, and her desire to resist melted in the warmth of his grasp. When she turned back to him, she found the same smirk hooking the right corner of his lips, scar taut.

“I doubt _inappropriate_ is the right word,” he whispered. “At least, I enjoyed it.”

Amallia scoffed with a roll of her eyes. “Of course it was _enjoyable._ But what if someone saw us? This … it’s just wrong. We can’t.”

A puppy scorned. The frown pursing his lips broke her heart and she could hardly resist the urge to take back the words. Then he nodded in agreement and she hated he had come to it so easily.

“I understand,” he murmured, looking to his feet. Though he shifted his weight, he did not back away from her, did not shy or retreat. His smile returned as he spoke.

“Can I ask something of you? A promise?”

“Anything, Commander. Name it and I will have it done,” Amallia replied, eager.

“Don’t let this – the Inquisition, your mark, the people, all of it – get in the way of your happiness. If there is _one_ person out of all of us that needs to be at their best, it’s you. And you can’t be at your best if you’re sacrificing everything.”

She squinted at him, suspicious of his motives in giving such advice. He may have truly meant it, honest advice from experience. And yet, Amallia couldn’t help but smirk at the thought of him attempting to assuage her concerns in an effort to remain closer to her.

“Are you trying to tell me that, if I enjoy kissing my commander, I should do it more often?”

Apoplectic with shock, Cullen’s mouth fell open and eyes widened. “I-uh … no. I mean, that is, if you want to, I … wouldn’t mind,” he stammered, hand rubbing the back of his neck as his gaze fell to his feet once more.

Her laughter echoed along the walls of Haven and she clamped a hand over her mouth to silence her mirth. When her humor finally subsided, Amallia leaned in, placing a quick kiss to his cheek. She felt him tense for another brief second, breath catching in his throat with a soft gasp between parted lips. And then he melted, a puddle at her feet as he sighed.

Parted, she smiled a tight-lipped smirk and murmured, “I’ll … keep that in mind. Thank you, Cullen. Good night.” The door to her quarters gave way under her weight and when she shut it behind her, she swore she heard him chuckle in disbelief as he strode away.


End file.
